


Visitation Rights

by MindfulWrath



Series: Early Days Yet [5]
Category: The Glass Scientists (Webcomic)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Light Angst, M/M, bleeding heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 12:07:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11668803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MindfulWrath/pseuds/MindfulWrath
Summary: Lanyon comes back to Cambridge post-graduation and finds Jekyll not exactly in the state he anticipated.





	Visitation Rights

"Good of you to come," Gabriel mentioned. They were the first words he'd spoken since meeting Robert at the station.

"Well! Things did seem tremendously dire," Robert said, rolling his eyes. "You used the word _concerned_ in your letter, I couldn't possibly overlook something that serious."

"You're making fun of me," Gabriel mumbled. "I _am_ concerned, Robert. He's holed up in his room again."

Robert linked his arm with Gabriel's. "Then evidently I have excellent timing!" he said, laying the nonchalance on thick to cover up the fear stirring in his chest.

"Hm," said Gabriel. His arm was stiff. Robert patted his wrist.

"I'm certain everything's _fine,_ Gabriel," he assured him. "And if it's not, it's nothing the two of us can't handle."

"Why _did_ you stop writing him?" Gabriel asked, fixing him with a keen eye.

Robert made a face and shrugged, taken off guard by the sudden cut to the point.

"I may have, perhaps, taken some silly notion into my head that he didn't want to hear from me," he admitted. "Utter poppycock, obviously, ahah, but there you have it!"

"What made you think that?"

"Oh, I don't _know,_ Gabriel, it's hardly relevant now," said Robert. "I'm here, and that's what matters."

"No," Gabriel said slowly, "I might think that what matters is that shortly before I wrote you, I discovered Henry well on his way to drinking himself to death."

Robert's steps faltered. He had to lean on Gabriel's arm to keep from tripping outright. Stiff as he was, Gabriel was as steady as a rock.

"You might have mentioned that!" Robert cried, eaten alive with guilt.

"I didn't like to say it in writing," said Gabriel. "Dreadfully difficult to bury something like that, if it gets dug up."

"God's sake," Robert said faintly.

"Well," said Gabriel, coming to a stop. "And here we are."

"Ah," said Robert. "So we are. Shall—shall I, or should you?"

"Whichever you prefer," Gabriel demurred.

"Perhaps you ought to," said Robert. "Wouldn't want to . . . shock him, or anything."

"Hm," said Gabriel. He rapped smartly on the door and called through the wood, "Henry? Are you in?"

 _"Yes yes, it's unlocked!"_ Henry returned. Gabriel raised an eyebrow at Robert.

"I suppose that's a good sign?" Robert guessed.

"It causes one to wonder," Gabriel said, "if he sounds that well, what he's been doing shut up in his room for two days."

Robert pursed his lips and inclined his head. Gabriel opened the door and edged in. Robert followed him.

Henry's room was, to put it mildly, a mess. Alchemical apparatuses were taking up ninety percent of the free space, many of them set up on top of the bed. Papers had been tacked to the walls and covered in scribbled notes—some of which veered off of the paper and onto the walls themselves. There was a thick smell of sulfur and rotting plant matter, like Henry had hidden a bog under his desk somewhere.

Henry himself did not look much better—he was only half-dressed, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, his hair sticking out at odd angles. His fingertips were black with what Robert hoped was ink. Smudges of the stuff were all over his face, the back of his neck, the front of his shirt. He was bent over a table, holding his own wrist as he dripped some clear solution into a pink one. It was unclear if the darkness of the circles under his eyes was due purely to lack of sleep or due to application of the ink-like substance. He was barefoot.

"Henry," Gabriel said carefully, while Robert shut the door.

"Yes, hello, sorry, be with you in just a moment," Henry said. His eyes were fixed on the chemicals, unwavering.

"Robert's here," Gabriel added.

"What?" said Henry. He glanced up, looked Robert over with unfocused eyes, and flashed a smile. "Oh. Hello! Sorry, in the middle of something, titrations, you know."

And he was right back to it, with no more acknowledgement than that. Robert tried not to be stung and failed.

"I'd offer you a drink but, unfortunately, I've had to repurpose some bottles," Henry went on. "Can't guarantee it would actually be, ah, what's the word, _non-toxic."_

A drop fell into the pink fluid, and it got slightly less pink.

"That's . . . quite all right, Henry," Robert said. "What, dare I ask, have you been doing in here?"

"This and that," said Henry. "Had an idea. It's all right, it's my free time, I've not missed anything important."

Gabriel made a face, as though to acknowledge that this was, technically, true, but was still distasteful.

"I should hope not," said Robert, falling back on pompous rigidity because he was at a total loss for what else to do. "As soon as you're done with that, though, you and Gabriel are taking me to lunch. I _did_ come all the way here from London to see you, after all."

"Yes yes, won't be a moment," Henry said. Another drop fell, and produced a swirl of blue that was immediately swallowed by the pink. Henry grinned like a schoolboy.

"I must say," Gabriel said quietly to Robert. "I think I preferred the drunken stupor."

"He does get like this," Robert replied, matching his tone. "If he won't go quietly once he's done the titration, we may have to drag him out."

"Is that likely?" Gabriel asked.

"Exceedingly."

"Very well, I shall take the feet, and you take the shoulders."

"Putting me in position to be struck?"

"Henry," Gabriel rumbled, "has more dangerous weapons than his fists at his disposal."

Robert squinted at him. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"You know I _can_ hear you," Henry piped up. "I haven't gone deaf."

"And do you agree?" Gabriel asked him.

"I can understand why you'd think so," Henry said diplomatically. Another drop fell into the bottle. The blue swirl persisted for longer, and left a colorless trail in its wake.

"If you don't want to be dragged out," Robert said, "I'd suggest coming quietly once you've done with that."

 _"Coming quietly,_ are you arresting me?" Henry said, laughing to himself.

"I will resort to handcuffs, if necessary," said Robert.

Henry looked at him with such flagrant bedroom-eyes that it made his throat seize up and his heart skip a beat.

"Robert," he admonished. "Not in front of poor Gabriel, you'll embarrass him."

Predictably, Gabriel broke out into a flustered mumbling, tugging at his collar and looking frantically round the room like something there would save him. Henry laughed. Two drips fell from the dropper in his hand and the solution in the bottle below turned completely blue. Henry turned his eyes back to it.

The change that came over him was immediate and frightening. He turned pale, his jaw clenched and his spine went rigid, his eyes blazed with fury. In a single ferocious swipe, he dashed the bottle to the floor, spraying the room with broken glass and blue liquid.

"God _dammit!"_ he snarled. He rounded on Robert like a wild animal and Robert flattened himself against the wall. "You've ruined the whole bloody thing! I was at that for an hour, do you have any _idea—"_

Gabriel took a single step forward, placing himself between Henry and Robert. Henry stopped mid rant, clarity returning to his gaze. He deflated, backing down. He pushed a shaking hand back through his hair.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry, I don't—I don't know what came over me."

Robert couldn't respond, tongue-tied. His heart was pounding in his ears, his breath coming short. Gabriel again stepped in to save him.

"Perhaps," he said slowly, "you had better get dressed."

Henry looked down at himself as though he'd forgotten he had a body.

"Ah," he said. "Yes. Good—that's an excellent plan, yes, thank you."

Still trembling, he went hunting about amongst the assorted apparatuses, muttering to himself. Gabriel half-turned to Robert and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm all right," Robert said, peeling himself off the wall. "Bit of glass hit me in the leg. I'm sure it's nothing, it doesn't even hurt. Just—startling, is all."

Gabriel continued looking at him for just a little too long. Robert straightened his waistcoat and his shoulders and cleared his throat.

"At any rate," he said, "clearly a break for lunch is in order. And after that, a good night's sleep for you, Henry. I'd wager you've forgotten at least one."

"Probably," Henry allowed, hidden behind a large tangle of glass. "What day is it?"

"Sunday," said Gabriel.

"Oh," said Henry. "Then yes. At least one."

Once again, Gabriel turned a baleful eye on Robert. Robert gestured towards the door with his chin and clasped his hands in pleading. Gabriel shook his head and tutted under his breath.

"I seem to have . . . forgotten my wallet," he mumbled. "Most inconvenient. Terribly sorry. Excuse me."

He shuffled out, stiff as a board and twice as wooden. Robert picked his way around the broken glass—and the unbroken glassware filling every available space—and found Henry in a small open space by his wash basin, struggling to unbutton his shirt. Up closer, Robert could see that the black on his fingers was more like soot than ink.

"Good heavens, Henry, first things first," Robert said. Henry startled, but Robert moved past him as though he hadn't, dipped a washcloth in the basin and took Henry's wrist in his hand. "You'll get it everywhere like that."

Henry's wrist was clammy in his hand, the pulse racing. Robert wiped the soot off his thumb for him and Henry hissed in a breath through his teeth. Robert pulled back sharply.

Beneath the soot were blisters.

"Henry," Robert said softly, looking up at him.

"There might have been a small, ah, deflagration," Henry admitted. He kept his eyes down.

"What on _earth_ have you been doing in here?"

Henry shrugged. "I had an idea," he said helplessly.

Pursing his lips, Robert shook his head and returned his attention to Henry's hand. He kept his touch light, cleaning off the soot, but Henry still flinched every time the damp cloth brushed over a blister.

"I'm sorry," Robert said. "I'm being as gentle as I can."

"You're perfect, Robert," Henry said, sending a flush of warmth through Robert's chest. "Gentler than I would have been."

The rest of the task passed in silence, until both hands were clean again. Robert reached up to wipe the soot off Henry's cheek, but Henry took his face in both hands and kissed him before he could. Robert melted on the spot. The taste of his lips was intoxicating, nostalgic, more of a homecoming than walking the halls of Cambridge. All too soon, Henry broke off and rested his forehead against Robert's.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"What on earth for?" said Robert, breathless.

"I . . . hadn't meant to do that," Henry said.

"I'm glad you did."

Henry just shook his head. Robert moved to kiss him again and he pulled away, plucked the cloth from Robert's hand and turned to his looking-glass. Industriously, he began wiping the soot from his face. His expression was grim.

"All right," Robert said, folding his arms. "What's wrong?"

"Everything," Henry said dully. He shrugged. "Or just me."

"You're going to have to be more specific, Henry, because I'm getting awfully tired of asking you what you mean."

Henry sighed and set the cloth down, leaning on his hands.

"I'm bad for you, Robert," he said. "I'm bad for everyone, but especially you. I would never want to stop being your friend, but . . . I don't think I can ever be anything other than that."

Robert blinked, swallowing back his automatic objections and the stinging in his sinuses.

"And what has led you to this conclusion?"

"You coming all the way from London because I won't take care of myself," Henry said. "It isn't your job to take care of me, or else it shouldn't be."

"I came here because I wanted to see you," Robert said.

"In your last letter, you said you'd be too busy to visit for several months."

"I—misestimated!"

"You stopped writing."

 _"I_ stopped writing? _You_ stopped writing!"

Henry paused. He looked over his shoulder at Robert.

"My last letter from you arrived on the twenty-ninth," he said. "When did my last reach you?"

"The twenty-sixth," said Robert, aiming for compassion but landing at exasperation.

Henry bowed his head. He rubbed at his eyebrow with the knuckle of his thumb.

"I must have forgotten," he mumbled. "I'm sorry, Robert, I could have sworn I had written you back."

Robert laid a hand on his shoulder. "Perhaps you did," he said, "and it got lost in the post. These things happen."

"At first I assumed you were too busy and then I assumed you had forgotten about me—"

 _"Forgotten_ about you?" Robert exclaimed. "How could I possibly have _forgotten_ about you?"

"I wish you had," Henry said, venomous.

Robert took his hand off Henry's shoulder.

"Henry," he said gently, "you know that I would do anything for you."

"I do," said Henry. "And I wish you wouldn't. I don't want you to do anything for me, Robert, I want you to do things for yourself."

"Excuse me, I do _plenty_ of things for myself," Robert said, puffing up like a bluebird in winter.

"Now that I'm not around," Henry allowed.

"What has gotten _into_ you?" Robert said. "You're not yourself, Henry."

With a sigh, Henry turned and leaned his back against the wash stand. He folded his arms and bowed his head.

"The truth is, Robert, for the past four days . . . _I_ forgot about _you._ I was—chasing discovery. The world, Robert, is made up of infinitesimal lines, drawn out by the hand of God, and sometimes, _sometimes,_ I think I can see them. Only glimpses, only. . . . And everything else fades to a dull chatter, like magpies squabbling on a branch outside my window."

"Hence forgetting to eat and sleep," Robert said. Henry waved him off.

"Those aren't important anyway," he said. "It's just—the truth is a _monstrous_ thing, Robert. How many men have given their lives in pursuit of it? How many have sacrificed themselves to it? I see it in flickers and shadows, always lurking in the corners of my eyes, but I know it's _there,_ and I know it is more terrible than anything else in this world, and I know I would give everything I have to see it clearly. What does that make me?"

"A scientist," Robert drawled. "For God's sake, Henry, you take yourself _far_ too seriously. Get out of your own head for an hour, it's nicer out here."

Henry made a valiant attempt at a smile.

"I'm sorry to have dragged you all the way out here," he said.

"First of all, a _train_ dragged me all the way out here," Robert said. "And second of all, _I wanted to come."_

He punctuated these last four words with sharp taps upon Henry's forehead. Henry wrinkled his nose and halfway flinched, but his smile became notably more genuine.

"Now get yourself dressed properly," Robert continued. "Or shall I assist with that, too?"

Henry raised his eyebrows and considered the ceiling.

"Well," he said, "you could assist with the initial stages."


End file.
